


illecebrous

by la_topolina



Series: The Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Continuity [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Mutual Pining, Rare Pairings, Romance, Songfic, Star-crossed, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_topolina/pseuds/la_topolina
Summary: On New Year's Eve, newly minted professor Minerva McGonagall accompanies Headmaster Dumbledore to a party at Malfoy Manor. Hosted by the unexpectedly charming Abraxas, Minerva is shown a path to temptation that she never bargained for.Abraxas Malfoy/Minerva McGonagall
Relationships: Abraxas Malfoy/Minerva McGonagall
Series: The Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Continuity [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745833
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	illecebrous

**Author's Note:**

> The action in this story takes place on 31 December 1956 and 1 January 1957. I have decided to follow the HP books for the dating of Minerva McGonagall's birth year; thus both she and Abraxas are 21 during the action of this story. This does play a little fast an loose with the birthdate of Lucius Malfoy, who would probably have been born in 1956 in order to be a prefect by 1971, when Snape matriculated at Hogwarts. This would suggest that Abraxas and Hera were already married parents by the time of this story, rather than engaged as I present them here. I hope you will find this tale amusing enough to overlook that bit of fudging.

__

_I'm at a party I don't wanna be at_

  
  
“Buck up, Minerva, it’s only one night,” Albus said cheerfully as he handed her into the glittering carriage that awaited them at the Apparition Point in the apple grove at the edge of the Malfoy estate.  
  
“If you’d told me accompanying you to the Malfoy New Year’s Eve Ball was one of the terms of my employment, I’d have reconsidered accepting the position,” Minerva replied tartly as she slid onto the fur-lined bench.  
  
Albus climbed in after her and gave her an amused smile as he arranged the traveling rug over her lap. The faceted door swung shut, and the icy carriage began its smooth passage to the Manor itself. Minerva could see her breath hovering in front of her face, and she shivered in the thin finery of her dress robes. Carved of ice and charmed to opulence, the carriage was as beautiful as it was freezing—rather like the Malfoys themselves.  
  
“Here and I had thought you found Abraxas at least tolerable,” Albus prodded. “You did well enough together as Head Boy and Girl.”  
  
“Aye, Abraxas is no fool, I’ll give him that. But he’s a stick up his arse and he’s far too fond of Pureblood nonsense for my taste. And how could you think I’d be mates with anyone who flew on the Slytherin Quidditch team?”  
  
“A fair point, but you scored so many points on him, I thought it might mitigate the sin of his being in the wrong house.”  
  
All this talk of Quidditch was making her shoulder ache with the ghost of the hex that had ended her career. “I don’t recall you ever being fond of Slytherins. Why bother buttering me up to them now?”  
  
“Whatever I may or may not think of Slytherin House, as Headmaster I strive to show impartiality.”  
  
“Ha! I’ll believe that when I see it.”  
  
He heaved a stricken sigh, but his sparkling eyes betrayed him. “Must I remind you that you are representing Hogwarts tonight? Please endeavor to be on your best behavior. I should be sorry to regret my choice of Transfiguration professor so quickly.”  
  
“You’ll never regret my being a professor, but you might well regret my being at this party.”  
  
“Minerva.” A note of censure gave a sharp edge to her name, and she relented.  
  
“For goodness’ sake, Albus, I know how to behave. I’ll be dull as dishwater tonight.”  


_Don’t think I fit in at this party_

  
The first and only time that Minerva had ever been to Malfoy Manor had been for a tedious summer party commemorating graduation. She’d been unfashionably punctual, and Abraxas had been saddled with the task of entertaining her. In spite of her nerves, and his reserve, she had been impressed by the grandeur of the estate; even if it did feel more like mausoleum than a home.  
  
With this memory forming her expectation, it was no surprise that she gasped as Albus led her into the sumptuous ballroom. The marble tomb had been transformed, coaxed to life with hues of purple, rose, and gold; lit by a swath of floating candles and fairy dust. The middle of the room was dominated by a whirl of determined dancers, hard at work to the music of the unseen orchestra. Artfully draped groups of colorful cushions sat in discrete niches, languidly inviting the guests to rest and feast upon the delicacies that crowded every available surface and seemed endless in number and kind. A fragrant smoke swirled through the air, giving a pleasant haze to the entire room, and Minerva was on the road to giddiness even before the first bubbling glass of champagne appeared.   
  
She gripped the coupe with the clammy fingers of one hand, and Albus’s arm with the other as he led her around the room with an artless confidence that she doubted she would ever possess. Without knowing quite how it happened, she found herself seated on an embroidered pouf, balancing a plate of rich temptations on her knees, attempting to follow the rapid witticisms that Albus exchanged with the imposing group of witches and wizards that Minerva recognized as making up most of the Hogwarts Board of Governors.   
  
“Do I understand correctly that you are the youngest teacher Hogwarts has ever employed?” asked Arcturus Black, peering through his pince-nez at her with his beady black eyes.  
  
She hastily swallowed a mouthful of caviar and crème fraîche. “I believe so, sir.”  
  
“And we were lucky to catch her before she disappeared into the wide world in search of fame and fortune,” Albus said warmly.   
  
Arcturus was unimpressed. “Yes, yes, Albus, you’ve been quite bull-headed in your support of the young lady. But I will not scruple to remind you that we will be watching her closely.”  
  
Minerva’s chin went up at that. “The young lady will do her best not do disappoint you, I’m sure,” she said sharply.  
  
Irma Crabbe, a pinched-face woman with a voice like treacle decided to make her opinion known. “Miss McGonagall, do remind me, who _were_ your parents? I must have been at school with them, but I can’t seem to bring their faces to mind.”  
  
“My mother is Isabol Ross,” Minerva replied stoutly. “You’ll remember her, she was captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Slytherin never won a match against her when she was playing.”  
  
“Ah, of course, and what a _spirited_ girl she was. And your father?”  
  
“The Right Reverend Robert McGonagall.”  
  
“How strange, I don’t remember him at all.”  
  
“You wouldn’t. He’s a Muggle.”  
  
“Ah, I do remember now. My condolences.”  
  
Minerva opened her mouth with the intention of informing Irma Crabbe exactly where she could shove her condolences, but Abraxas Malfoy intercepted the insult.  
  
“Minerva, all this talk of business is boring me to death. Be a sport and do me the honor of standing up with me before they get on to budgets and fundraising,” he said, uncoiling himself from his cushion and tossing aside his jeweled hookah. Immaculately groomed, he was every inch the jaded atheling, suffering from a terminal bout of ennui.  
  
Much as she wished to let her tongue fly, Albus’s warning glance and Abraxas’s waiting hand convinced her to curb it. A house elf appeared to whisk away her dishes, and soon she was following Abraxas to the top of a set of dancers, relieved to be free from the barbs of the Blacks. For a time her mind and body were fully occupied with the minding of her turns and her pas de basques. The Highland Reel invaded her bones, and she almost forgot that she was in the middle of a gaggle of Pureblood snobs until the dance required her to skip across the set and partner briefly with Cygnus Black.  
  
“How spry you are, Minerva,” he said, his breath smelling unpleasantly medicinal. “After that blow Orion dealt you I’m surprised you can still dance at all.”  
  
“Orion’s cheating might have grounded me, but I can beat either of you, any time, anywhere,” she spat back.  
  
“Temper, temper. Watch this one, Abraxas, she bites!” Cygnus chortled.  
  
“Then I’ll thank you to refrain from stirring her up,” Abraxas replied, smoothly retrieving her from Cygnus and returning her to the top of the set.  
  
Fortunately for Cygnus, the dance had progressed to the point that she was not forced to bear his company much longer. In another round, Abraxas was leading her down the line, and she had nothing to do but admire his execution of the Highland Schottische, and then stand opposite him while they waited for the other dancers to supplant them.   
  
Now that she had the chance to really look at her partner, it was apparent that the years following their graduation had been kind to him. His lanky frame had filled out into a sinewy muscularity that suited him far too well. For all his exertions, neither his robes nor his white-blond hair were ruffled, while Minerva could feel a lock of her own unruly red curls slip free of its coif. She brushed it back and saw his eyes track her movement like a snake tracking its prey. Her stomach flipped and she pulled her irritation at Cygnus and the other Purebloods around her as armor against the disconcerting sensation.  
  
“Cygnus Black is a worm,” she said in a tone that dared the Malfoy prince to argue.  
  
Abraxas shrugged. “Everyone knows that. And his brother is lower still.”  
  
“How can you stand them?”  
  
“Even a worm has its uses.”  
  
“Such as taking out rivals by cheating?”  
  
The dance demanded they join hands, and he gripped hers with a firmness that startled her as they strathspeyed back to the top.  
  
“If I’d had any idea what Orion was planning, I never would have let him fly that day,” Abraxas said in a low rumble.  
  
“That’s easy for you to say now,” she shot back under her breath.  
  
“Do you happen to remember how Orion was unable to sit for weeks after that stunt?”  
  
“Aye, I do. Someone hexed the bugger, and it served him right.”  
  
“I quite agree, which is why I ensured that it happened.”  
  
The dance asserted its rule over them again, and she digested this revelation for the remainder of it. When the music ended, the set broke apart, its members leaving in groups of twos and fours in search of sustenance.   
  
Abraxas offered her his arm, asking, “Are you hungry? May I take you in to supper?”  
  
She was too confused by the thoughts tumbling through her head and the sensations pricking her skin to be hungry, but she was in the act of putting her hand on his arm to accept his invitation when the opportunity was snatched from her.  
  
“Communing with the natives, Abraxas?” Hera Bulstrode quipped, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm and claiming him like a piece of luggage. She was small and neat, unlike her country cousins; her robes were of the latest fashion and highest quality; she dripped jewelry and disdain. “I had no idea you were so nimble.”  
  
“Yes, I expected that a Reel would tire your delicate disposition,” Abraxas replied dryly. “Darling, you remember Minerva McGonagall.”  
  
“I do. How nice to see you,” she said, baring her teeth in a sharp little smile. She held her hand out limply, flashing a ring shining with the Malfoy crest in Minerva’s face.  
  
Minerva gave it a proper squeeze and replied, “You’re looking fine, Hera. How are you otherwise?”  
  
“Busy, busy. Planning the wedding of the century does take its toll.”  
  
“I can imagine.”  
  
“Can you? Will we be seeing you jumping the broom soon as well?”  
  
“No, I doubt it.”  
  
“What a pity.”  
  
Abraxas looked ashamed of his intended’s rudeness. “Minerva has taken the Transfiguration position at Hogwarts.”  
  
“Have you?” Hera seemed to find this a fine joke. “How droll. Abraxas, I’m famished. I’m sorry to separate you and your little friend, but do take me in to supper before I faint dead away.”  
  
“Of course. Thank you for the dance, Minerva.”  
  
Abraxas gave her a short bow and Hera shot her a look of high triumph. Minerva pursed her lips in response, but she felt more angry with herself than anyone else. What was she doing making an idiot of herself with Abraxas Malfoy of all people? And why hadn’t he bothered to tell her he was engaged?  
  
And when had he gotten so bloody handsome?  
  
She shut her eyes, overwhelmed by the heat and the noise and the smell of the room. Dinner was out of the question, and she retreated to the quiet of a deserted hallway to breathe.  


_I’m addicted to the thrill_  


Minerva had never been one to sulk, and when Albus came to collect her for the fireworks, he found her keeping old Belvina Black company by the fire in the library. A spitfire from her youth, Belvina’s bawdy tales had all but driven Abraxas and his coterie from Minerva’s mind. She half wanted to stay inside, if only for the pleasure of hearing whatever blue thing Belvina might say next, but the older woman insisted that she was going to bed and Minerva would be better served by watching the show outdoors.  
  
Her escort abandoned her on the threshold though. A house elf bearing a message from Mr Norris, the Hogwarts groundskeeper, could be neither ignored nor postponed. Before she knew how he’d done it, Albus had excused himself and charged her with not only viewing the lights, but reporting to him about their beauty in detail the next morning. Disgruntled, she stalked out through the veranda onto the snow-covered lawn, taking a spot as far away from the crowd—and, unfortunately, the pockets of warming charms—as she could.   
  
But as the music drifted out into the night, and the charmed fireworks lit up the heavens, Minerva grudgingly allowed their flamboyant beauty to soothe her growling temper. Before long she was absorbed by the display, delighted to be alive and witnessing such brilliance.  
  
“Aren’t you cold, huddling in this corner by yourself?” Abraxas emerged from the darkness, and Minerva jumped at the sound of his voice.  
  
“No, not at all. And the air is fresher here.”  
  
“That, at least, is true.”   
  
What on earth was he doing here? Didn’t he have a fiancée somewhere to mind? “I suppose congratulations are in order,” she said pointedly. “You didn’t mention that you were engaged.”  
  
“It’s a recent development,” he replied with all the enthusiasm of a flobberworm.  
  
“I expect you’ll be very happy.”  
  
He snorted. “She’s a Bulstrode and I’m a Malfoy. We’ll rub along well enough.”  
  
“What a thrilling endorsement of the matrimonial state.”  
  
“I’m the only son. It’s a duty, nothing more.”  
  
“How depressing. Where is your keeper now?”  
  
“Hera? Holding court with her ladies-in-waiting. She’s well aware that the fireworks are but a prelude to the dunking and the bacchanal.”  
  
“And she’s missing it? A laugh a minute she is.”  
  
“She has her pleasures and I have mine.”  
  
Heat rose in her cheeks and she leveled a glare at him. “I’m not your pleasure, Abraxas.”  
  
He returned her glare, unperturbed. “I never said you were.”  
  
The fireworks and the music faded, and the crowd dispersed, some to the house, and some further out into the Malfoy wilderness. She should have gone in, rather than stand there, crossing swords with the spoiled Malfoy heir. Except that he’d grown out of the role of the pampered boy and into a role that she didn’t yet understand. Her anger smoothed into something that might have been pity, and she decided to stay where she was and continue the game.  
  
“What’s this dunking you mentioned?” she asked.  
  
“The New Year’s dunking? Aren’t you from the Highlands? How can you not have heard of it?”  
  
“You don’t mean…you’re going ice swimming? You?”  
  
“I am. I go every year. Have you really never done it?” His eyes were bright with a life she’d rarely seen in them; he looked young and open--and dangerously handsome.  
  
“No. Never. Father didn’t approve of such things.”  
  
He clucked his tongue. “Father’s not here. Will you come?”  
  
“I don’t think I should. I am representing the school after all, and I’m on thin ice with the Board already.”  
  
“Hang the Board, they haven’t the balls to do it. If you’re worried about being seen, we can wait here until the rest of the dunkers have taken their turn and are heading back to the house. They won’t stay in long this time of year.”  
  
“I…”  
  
“You aren’t…afraid are you?”  
  
Those were the magic words. “Certainly not! I’ll do it.”  


*****

Her courage stumbled when she was standing face to face with the frozen lake. Clouds heavy with snow obscured the sky, and a light wind was sending a chill through her robes. The ice had been cleared in a neat square close to the dock, and the midnight blue water that showed through seemed bottomless and vast. Lanterns lined the edge of the natural enclosure, and though she knew there were scores of people yet wandering about the Manor, Minerva felt that she and Abraxas were alone, lost in a fairy world together.   
  
She gave a startled gasp of protest when her companion began to undress, slinking out of his dress robes and undershirt to stand before her in trousers, boots, and nothing besides. He laughed at her maidenly airs and she felt her face go red to the roots of her hair.   
  
“You’d best do the same. You don’t need all that lot weighing you down,” he teased as he pulled off his boots. “Or are you afraid, Gryffindor?”  
  
“I’m not afraid of anything, Slytherin,” she shot back, flicking off her own robes and reveling in satisfaction when he sucked in his breath and averted his eyes.  
  
“Leave those,” he ordered in a harsh voice when she started to remove her sensible woolen socks. “You don’t want your feet freezing to the dock when we come out.”  
  
She did as he said, and put her hands on her hips, facing him with her shoulders back and her chin up; well aware that her figure was completely exposed. The hem of her chemise fluttered in the breeze and the cold night air raised gooseflesh on her skin. Abraxas feasted his eyes on her at this silent challenge; she was half goddess, half forbidden fruit under his scrutiny.   
  
At last he tore his eyes away and plunged into the water with an elegant dive. His face wore that open smile when he resurfaced, his hair gleaming and dripping in the lantern light.  
  
“Don’t keep me waiting girl! It’s no night for a long swim.”  
  
“Don’t call me girl, Abraxas!”  
  
She was after him in a trice, and Crivvens she was surely going to die! She hit the water and the air rushed out of her as though she’d been kicked. Parts of her went numb that she hadn’t known she had until she stopped feeling them. Some animalistic instinct urged her legs to kick and her arms to move, and she clawed her way back to the surface to breathe. Abraxas was there waiting for her, laughing at her shock. She sucked in the frigid air—air that felt sweet and warm compared to the water she was treading. Her body screamed in protest, but Lord, she felt so very alive; it was better than the first time she’d flown on a broom.  
  
He circled her like a merman—or a shark—and for an instant she thought he was going to touch her.   
  
“You’re turning blue,” he said through chattering teeth. “Come on, before you go under and I have to haul you out.”  
  
“I could stay in all night,” she retorted, and followed him back to the dock.  
  
Snow was falling by the time they were both out of the water, and she felt deliciously limp, lying there on the dock, watching the flakes land on her nose. He was all business, drying them both with a charm and hauling her to her feet that he might wrap her cloak around her shoulders.  
  
“Up Minerva, no sleeping here,” he chided, slipping his arm around her waist to steady her.  
  
He had no right to feel so good. “I’ll sleep where ever I like.”  
  
Her feet stuck to the snow, and she was glad now that she’d kept on her socks, even if they did resemble dead jellyfish clinging to her ankles. The wind kicked up, causing her teeth to chatter and her vision to blur with tears.   
  
“I think I need to sit down,” she murmured wearily.  
  
“A few steps more, and then you may,” he said sternly.  
  
She leaned against him shamelessly, stumbling over the snow, and when her legs were wobblier than hasty pudding, they came upon a snug stone hut. He guided her to the bed in the corner of the single room, and she could see his wand flashing in the darkness as he lit the fire and set warming charms in the corners of the small space. If his hands were rough when he wrapped the blankets around her and coaxed her to lie down, she did not complain. Her body was screaming again as the heat assaulted it, and breathing was a laborious act of will. But soon she relaxed into the bed; and it was a heavy and wonderful thing to have a body. Her eyes closed, and she drifted into the netherworld between wakefulness and sleep.  


_I can deal with the bad nights_

  
She came to with a start; wide awake and shivering so hard that her teeth clacked together. The fire still burned high, and the blankets were still warm, but she was cold to the marrow. And where was she? She’d been at Malfoy Manor, gone outside for the fireworks, gone ice swimming with Abraxas…  
  
Good Heavens, where was the man?   
  
She rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with an inelegant thump. Her companion was huddled on the stones, wrapped in a blanket, and her clatter woke him from his slumber. He was on his feet in an instant, wand drawn, clad only in his trousers, his blond hair untidy from sleep. When he saw they were still alone, his stance relaxed, and he put his wand back on the table by the wall while she scrambled to her feet.  
  
“What is it Minerva?” he asked, his back to her and his voice cold.  
  
“N…nothing.”  
  
“Have you gone and caught cold? I thought you were made of hardier material.”  
  
“I’ve not caught cold,” she countered. “I only _feel_ cold.”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“Yes! And after that dunking I should think it no surprise.”  
  
He turned to her and his expression was unfathomable. The cottage was silent save for the cracking of the fire, and the cracking of whatever it was sparking between them.  
  
“I should go back,” she said lamely.  
  
“I don’t think that’s wise. You’ve already got a chill and the weather hasn’t let up. Best to wait for morning.”  
  
“With _you_?” She winced at the way her voice climbed at the end of the second word.  
  
“I’ve no intention of freezing to death.” He ran his eyes over her and she felt naked as a jaybird, in spite of the blanket and her chemise. “Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of defiling you either. Lie down and I’ll cast you a fresh warming charm.”  
  
Ever since she’d been a child, there had been times when Minerva felt the impulse to do something very wrong. Her father would say that a little devil had got hold of her when she’d pull up the flowers or climb up on the roof of the barn. And though she’d always meekly say her prayers and promise to do better, it was nearly impossible to resist when it came round with its red-hot pokers, as it did now.  
  
She licked her lips, saw his nostrils flare, and felt her power. “What if I don’t want a warming charm?”  
  
He cursed under his breath and she advanced on him, letting the blanket slip through her fingers to the floor. His hands were clenched in fists at his sides, but he didn’t stop her when she put hers on his bare chest, or when she ran them over his cool skin to his face and his hair. His heart pounded under her fingers, echoing the careening beat of her own, and she leaned up to capture his parted lips.   
  
Suddenly his hands came to life, catching hers by the wrists and halting their exploration. He kissed her palms with burning lips, then pressed them together, trapping them between his own.  
  
“Lie down, Minerva,” he implored; a man shaken to the core.  
  
Spellbound, she did as he begged, not sure what he was going to do, not sure what she even wanted him to do. He sat beside her, and tenderly turned her towards the wall, letting his hand run the length of her from shoulder to hip. Then he lowered himself onto the bed, and curved his body around hers. A wordless accio brought the blankets to them; and when all was settled he twined their fingers together, and buried his face in her hair.  
  
“Go to sleep,” he whispered hoarsely.   
  
He held her that way all night, perched on the edge of the abyss; the most exquisite torture she would ever experience, before or since.

_Life’s a game but it’s not fair_

She woke to a fully dressed Abraxas and a hot breakfast. Stiff and formal as he’d ever been, he averted his eyes while she dressed and talked smoothly of nothing while they ate. Anger and embarrassment gnawed at her heart as he draped her cloak around her shoulders and led her out to the Apparition Point. A forlorn birdsong echoed across the deserted grounds, and the grey sky offered no glimpse of the morning sun. She stubbornly refused his arm as they tromped through the unbroken snow, and she turned aside his attempts at meaningless conversation.  
  
“I must thank you for a delightful evening,” he said when they reached the apple grove.  
  
“Indeed,” she replied frostily. “Thank you for inviting me.”  
  
He hesitated, then said quietly, “Minerva, you’re the finest woman I’ve ever met.”  
  
The anger and shame that had been building all morning exploded. “I don’t know what you’re about, Abraxas, but you’ve got a lot of nerve saying such things to me! Especially when you’re shuffling me off like some kind of two-knut hussy.”  
  
“Two-knut hussy? You’re worth more than the lot of them combined. I was trying to spare you more of their sneering.”  
  
“If you think that, why do you stay here?”  
  
Her question unmasked him, and he stood before her with his desires and his anguish brazenly on display. “Because I love this land more than life itself. I could no more leave it than I could give up my magic or my name.”  
  
“Well,” she said more gently, “you’ve no business acting the way you did when you’re bound to marry another woman.”  
  
“Do you think I’m unaware of that?” he shot back, and they were at it again.  
  
“I don’t pretend to understand how that Slytherin mind of yours works.”  
  
“I would end things with Hera in a heartbeat if I thought I might have you instead.”  
  
“I doubt that would be a wise idea.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Why indeed? “Could you honestly see me as lady of the manor? I’d burn the place down within a fortnight.”  
  
“I’m sure you would.” He laughed bitterly, and caught her hands with his. “I wish that things could be different.”  
  
Her heart was cracking, breaking over the loss of something she hadn’t even known she wanted. But she hadn’t been willing to live in a muggle cage for Dougal McGregor, and she wasn’t willing to live in a magical one for Abraxas Malfoy. She checked her tears, and mustered a smile as she said what she believed would be their only goodbye.  
  
“No sense wishing for the moon, Abraxas. But think of me from time to time, will you?”  
  
“That, I promise you.”  
  
He loosened his hold on her hands, and she slid them away, savoring the touch of his fingers to the last. The apple trees reached out to her, offering shelter and space to collect herself, that she might depart without fear of splinching or worse. He leaned heavily against one of the wide trunks, watching her as she gathered her thoughts and her magic.   
  
A solitary fruit, covered with frost, clung stubbornly to one of the frozen branches. Its red hue shone all the more brilliantly for its loneliness; and her fingers itched to pluck it, though she knew that fruit this late would be sour.  
  
She turned away and left it hanging—there, in the bleak world, alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the result of my combining three very interesting—and disparate—challenges on hpft. For the New Year, New You Challenge; we were given two songs, one from 2009 and one from 2019 to build our story around, and we were asked to have the MC of the story try something new for the first time (I chose ice swimming for this story). I was given Run This Town by Jay-Z and I Don’t Care by Ed Sheeran and Justin Bieber. The section headings are taken from the song lyrics thus:
> 
> I'm at a party I don't wanna be at;  
> Don’t think I fit in at this party; and  
> I can deal with the bad nights are from I Don’t Care
> 
> I’m addicted to the thrill; and  
> Life’s a game, but it’s not fair are from Run This Town
> 
> For a bonus point, we could also be assigned a random MC, and I was given Minerva McGonagall.
> 
> There’s Only One Bed Challenge asked us to use the one bed trope in a story. This was my first time writing that trope--and I adore it.
> 
> The Happier Holidays Challenge asked us to incorporate a holiday occuring in December or January and its traditions into our story. I chose New Year's Eve. Along with the usual party, fireworks, and disappointed love, this story also sports the polar plunge; or Loony Dunk, as it's called in Scotland. In much of the UK, this event occurs on Christmas Day or Boxing Day; and in Scotland it occurs on New Year's Day.
> 
> Many many thanks to Chemical_Pixie for sharing her ice swimming experiences with me! And also many thanks to Mr Z for beta-ing this story.
> 
> atheling: an anglo-saxon prince  
> pas de basque: place-keeping dance step  
> Highland Schottische and strathspey: traveling dance steps
> 
> The final line of the story is a play on the final stanza of Thomas Moore's poem, The Last Rose of Summer, as is the chapter title:
> 
> "So soon may I follow,  
> When friendships decay,  
> And from Love's shining circle  
> The gems drop away.  
> When true hearts lie withered,  
> And fond ones are flown,  
> Oh! who would inhabit  
> This bleak world alone?"


End file.
